But a Great Adventure
by QueenOfTheGryffindorks
Summary: To the well organized mind death is but the next great adventure. Is it really? Harry looks at his reflection and realizes he's changed. So he did what he thought was logical, made a split second decision that changed everything. Warning Character Death.


To the well organized mind death is but the next great adventure. When spoken by Albus Dumbledore it sounds amazing, but now that I really think about it, it's a loud of bull. If death was that great, people would _want _to die. A lot of the things people told me in the past were rubbish though, so it really doesn't surprise me. Prime example, those damn muggles I lived with; they lied to my face about my own parents death. I guess that goes to show how cold and heartless they were, now doesn't it?

After that, the lies people blatantly told me to my face, never bothered me. That was until now. Now I know what it means to be alone in the world. I never really had anyone though, did I? My parents were dead before I could speak. Sirius died when I really needed him the most, but when you stop and think about that it was my fault. Dumbledore, well let's face it, was off his rocker. Ron and Hermione turned out to be bloody traitors and ran to Voldemort, who by the way is still trying to kill me. Then there's the latest tragedy that slashed open another wound into my already battered heart. Draco's death.

He was my friend. My last friend. The only who stood by me as unbelieveable as it was. The way Skeeter tells it I'm the last person he had contact with before he went. I guess that makes me a suspect. If you ask me it's just Voldemort's great knew idea of quick capture. Getting me thrown in Azkaban that is.

I'd make the vowe that I didn't though. I'm probably the only one who bothered to give a damn about him anyway. I tried to convince myself he was still alive for weeks. I watched out the window everyday thinking that I would see him strolling up the path for lunch like always, but he never did. I'll never be able to forget the day the ministry found his body, cold and lifeless. I locked myself in my room, and refused to come out for three days, weeping for hours at a time. Skeeter wrote about it. According to her it was a juvenile plea for attention, but you mean to tell me if someone you loved, the last person who you truely cared for died you wouldn't do the same?

After those days of endless tears, all my sorrow was gone. There was no need to feel that way. Draco had long since moved on, and that was a fact I couldn't change. I was left with brutal relentless anger. The kind that makes you want to smash anything within reach. In fact I did just that. Whipping vases, dishes, glasses, or anything that would break at the walls. I thought doing this would help release the pent up anger. I was wrong, it still bubbles beneath the surface in the depths of my now fiery soul.

When thoughts of hatred come to mind, normally I just recall happy memories. Never once did I think that one day I would run out of them. And as it turns out, today is the day it happens. I tread over to the bathroom where I patted my face with an ice cold wash cloth. It didn't help on the contrary it made the heat of my face more pronounced. Looking up into the mirror above the sink, I study my face. It looked completely the same as always, yet somehow, something was different. I just couldn't seem to place it. Running my hand down the mirror I watched my reflection did the same.

I felt a wave of rage come over me, I lost control clenched my fist and slammed it into the mirror with as much force as I could summon. It shattered, bits of broken glass flew everywhere. The biggest pieces landed in the water filled sink, splashing water to the counter top. I looked at my reflection once again.

When you don't recognize yourself, you know something's wrong. When you lose control, you know that your not safe to be around. When you hate life, you know that you don't deserve one. At that very moment, I felt like a monster. Like I should be caged to protect others.

I reached for a jagged shard of glass, and held it firmly in my hand, tracing the edges with my index finger. I looked around the room at what my fury has caused, a mess. Not only for me but the entire wizarding world. Even with my rage I still haven't murdered Voldemort, and I never will. Rolling my sleeve up, I dragged the sharpest point of the shard down my arm. It stung at first, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional pain that has been building inside me. Blood trickled from the wound. It wasn't enough. So I dragged the shard once more down my forearm this time digging it in deeper. As the blood gushed from my spilt skin I began feeling dizzy.

I thought of my parents. I thought of Sirius. I thought of Draco. I thought of everyone that's died because of the war. I thought of the families that are now broken because of it. Something deep inside of me was telling me what I did was right, and it was for the greater good. If I could have I would have contemplated more, but the room started to get hazy, and my vision crept away. Something secretly inside of me hoped though that death really was the next great adventure.

* * *

><p>So? Not to shabby..ehh?<p>

Review. Please? I'll give you cyber cookies!

~QueenOfTheGryffindorks


End file.
